


They Must Be Poodle People

by Mahoroba



Category: Ant-Man (Movies), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Recovering, Drabble, Epic Friendship, F/M, Feels, Fluff, PTSD, SO MUCH FLUFF, Steve Rogers Feels, Sweet, Who Doesn't Love Dogs, therapy dogs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-03-10 07:33:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13497530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mahoroba/pseuds/Mahoroba
Summary: You run into the strangest people when you dog-sit.





	1. In Which Coco finds a Captain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sheer fluff. Literally and figuratively.

Madame Pompadour’s Coco Chanel Dahling is a coal black standard poodle. The pick of the litter, she’s got several _Best in Shows_ to her name, and her owner’s house has shelves dedicated to the various prizes that she’s won. At 70 pounds, her head, when standing, comes up to about your waist. Adding on her meticulous top knot, her true height is maybe right under your breasts. 

 

She’s a giant, elegant, no - flat out _beautiful_ dog.

 

With her pink nails, faux diamond studded (at least you always assumed they were faux diamonds; knowing your friend Sheryl, they just might be real) pink leather collar, and over the top continental clip, taking Coco (as you always called her) out for a walk was always an adventure. You couldn’t walk more than a yard without people flocking over to you. 

 

Thankfully, Coco, at two years old, had matured into more “traditional” poodle behavior - aloof to strangers, a warm, energetic cuddle monster to those she knew. And, equally thankfully, you’d known Coco since she was eight weeks old. Since you knew her so well, more often than not you ended up dog-sitting when your friend Sheryl was out of town. 

 

Hoping to avoid the swarms of people that Coco usually attracted (and that you had a sneaking suspicion that the dog wasn’t all that fond of being the center of attention when there were more important sniffs out there), you’d gotten up early this morning, threw on your comfiest, baggiest sweat pants and hoodie, and taken her out to a near by park. Dawn was settling lightly over the dead, December grass, and a faint fog covered everything. Without anyone around, in the blessed silence, you’d let Coco off leash. Her recall was excellent, and all you had to do was click your tongue if she started to wander off too far. She’d stop, look up, and instantly spring back to your side.

 

Thrilled at the quiet, she was bounding ahead, in great rabbit leaps, while you smiled, watching her. Her pink leash was coiled in one hand, half-way shoved in your pocket, while you let your mind wander. On a weekend morning, you were surprised that the park was this quiet. Normally, you would have figured to have at least run into one jogger. But there had been no one. Not like you were going to look a gift horse in the mouth, though. The black trail that the two of you were on cut through a collection of trees, and then back into the open area of the park. Once the park reached “open land,” it was flanked by two very busy streets. It always amazed you how you could walk into the depths of the little “forest” and not know that there was an outside world. 

 

Suddenly, Coco stopped. Her body snapped to attention, and she stared straight ahead. 

 

Then she took off like a comet.

 

“Coco! Coco!” You whistled, clicked; she didn’t stop. 

 

“Dammit!” Sheryl would kill you if something happened to Coco. Chasing after her, your heart dropped into your shoes as you rounded the bend. You were out into the open area of the park now, and those busy streets awaited you. God, if she’d run out in front of one of those cars….

 

However, what awaited you around the corner of the trees was something utterly unexpected.

 

For all of her giant grace, Coco was standing in front of someone. No, standing wasn’t it - she was down in a play bow, her ridiculous poofed tail wagging eagerly. The person -man- that was in front of this ridiculous display was laughing as he kneeled in front of her. Coco took the initiative and shoved her head under his hand, begging for pets, her tail never stopping.

 

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” you began, dashing up closer, leash in hand. This close, all you could see was a shock of pale golden hair and beautiful biceps. Pale hands that looped around and cradled Coco’s face as she gave him kisses, her tongue flattening against his fingers.

 

“Is this gorgeous girl yours, then?”

 

He looked up, and you weren’t sure if you were going to either melt or spontaneously combust.

 

For the man that had caught Coco was none other than Steve Rogers. 

 

“Uh…” 

 

“Did you run off and give your owner some trouble? Bad girl! Bad girl!” Coco, however, was having none of the baby-talk scolding and just cuddled closer, placing her front paws on Steve’s lap, nearly bowling him over. He just laughed harder, rubbing the sides of her face.

 

“Um…yeah…something like that,” you swallowed hard, your tongue thick in your throat. Taking advantage of Coco’s distracted state, you swooped in and quickly clicked her leash back onto her collar. 

 

“Come on, Coco,” and you gave her a light tug back, getting her off of Steve. She tugged forward, making another ridiculous play bow at Steve’s feet before she barked at him. 

 

“….You must be a poodle person,” you said, trying to wrangle Coco back a few steps. “Coco, please!”

 

Laughter still in his blue eyes, he stood up, dusting off his hands, and looked at you. His cheeks flushed the palest pink, and his laugh grew sheepish.

 

“I dunno about a ‘poodle person,’ but I do like dogs. Why do you say that?”

 

Realizing that you were fighting a losing battle with a very strong 70 pound dog, you loosened your grip on the leash. Feeling the slack, Coco straightened up from her play bow and head butted Steve in the legs. His smile returning, he began to pet her, running his hand from her top knot down her neck. Coco’s eyes closed in contentment, and she began to lean up against him.

 

“Because Coco doesn’t instantly warm up to people like this,” you said, panic finally replaced by calm. It was hard not to smile, watching the massively fancy dog act like a baby. “Sometimes people are even scared of her - they think that poodles are mean. And some of them can be, but really, they just take a minute to warm up to people. I’ve never seen her react to a complete stranger like this.”

 

Though you couldn’t really blame her. Photos really did not do Captain Rogers any sort of justice.

 

“Aww, but she’s a sweetheart,” Steve cooed, kneeling down in front of her again. Thrilled that he was back on her level, she began to pepper his face with kisses, pulling on the leash again to get closer. He was laughing outright again now, feebly pushing her away.

 

“Coco, Gawd,” and now you were on your knees, quickly falling to your rear as you tugged her back. Now that you and Steve were on the ground, Coco, pleased that her master poodle plan had worked, sat contentedly between the two of you, her tail waving slowly, absorbing the pets from both of you.

 

“Aren’t they supposed to be really smart?”

 

“A little too smart,” you sighed, trying to get comfortable. The ground was slightly damp, and you were quite sure you’d have a giant wet spot on your butt when you got up. “But she really is a wonderful dog.”

 

“How old is she?”

 

“Two.”

 

“She’s really calm for that age,” Steve said, running his fingers through her top knot. “When she came around the corner I wasn’t sure if she was going to attack me or not. But then again, seeing such a fancy dog this early, I wasn’t sure if I was still dreaming.” A sly slant to his mouth, and you realized he was cracking a joke.

 

And, despite the butterflies in your stomach, you laughed.

 

“I was actually the bad one,” you said, in a stage whisper. “I know dogs aren’t supposed to be off-leash, but she’s usually really, really good about that. And since there wasn’t anyone here, I figured, why not. I guess she must have heard you, because she took off like a shot.” You shifted, moving to stand. Steve was quicker onto his feet, and offered you his hand. Taking it, he pulled you to your feet with ease. A little too easy, because you were caught off balance and crashed into his chest.

 

You weren’t sure who apologized first: you or him. All you knew was that the two of you were babbling over each other, and once you both realized it, you both started laughing.

 

“I’m Steve,” he finally said, dusting off a hand on his rear before handing it to you.

 

“I figured -  I’m (Y/N).”

 

“That recognizable?” 

 

“No one really forgets a face like yours.”

 

Realizing that you’d blurted that out loud, your cheeks grew warm. His smile, rather than being mocking, turned irresistibly shy.

 

“I…uh, well, thanks, (Y/N).”

 

Stammering, you replied, “No, thank YOU, for catching Coco here. It would have been the end of my world if she’d gotten out into the street. No more off leash for you,” you sniped down at the dog. Coco clearly had no regrets, and simply wagged her tail at you.

 

“Well, I should let you get back to…doing whatever,” you said, wanting to kick yourself for sounding so dumb. Even Coco, with her tongue lolling out, stopped her causal dog smile to look up at you.

 

“Was just out for a morning run,” Steve supplied, his eyes drifting from Coco to you. Suddenly very self-conscious in your baggy clothing, you twisted the handle of Coco’s leash in your hand. “Maybe I’ll see you guys again? I usually come out here in the early morning when it’s quiet.”

 

Was that an invitation?

 

“Because I’d love to see Miss Coco again, yes I would, yes I would!” He was kneeling again, cradling Coco’s face and petting her. Her tail was a rapid drum beat against your legs, as she mumbled in contentment. Well, figures that Coco would, once again, get all the attention. You gave the black dog a grin.

 

“I’m sure you will - I dog sit for her more often than not, and this is her favorite park. Isn’t it?” Realizing that you were addressing her, she turned those dark intelligent eyes your way, quirking her head and settling at your feet.

 

“I hope so - it really makes a guy’s morning when he runs into two beautiful ladies when he least expects it. Coco, be good,” and he gave her one last head ruffle. Standing up straight, he looked at you, his smile bright. “Have a nice day, (Y/N).” And then he was off jogging down the trail again.

 

Standing there, you looked at Coco. She looked back at you, stamping a paw as if to say, _Look what I did for you. Where’s my treat?_

 

Chuckling, you lightly patted the top of her head. “Okay, okay. I think you’ve earned yourself a puppacino.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course Steve Rogers baby talks to dogs. Why would you ever think otherwise?
> 
> And I am a poodle person HOW COULD YOU TELL.
> 
> The continental clip for a poodle is the kind that most people traditionally associate poodles with - the pom-poms on the feet, hips, and tail, and the giant top knot: http://www.perropet.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/22eb0f4832e079922ea551b721f3dd21.jpg.


	2. Fancy Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's just so much fluff here - it couldn't be contained by one Avenger.

Coco was frolicking with her older sister, Madame Pompadour’s Marie Antoinette of Versailles. Marie Antoinette (or Marie for short), was an off white standard, sporting the same continental clip that Coco had. Rather than pink nails, though, Marie had baby blue ribbons threaded in her ears and at the base of her top knot. They were chasing each other according to rules that only they knew: they’d run frantically after one another, then randomly stop, play bow and bark at each other, tussle a little, and then would be off running full tilt again. Strange, but amusing to watch.

 

It was a sunny day in March, with a chill wind that kept you bundled up in your hoodie and sweater. You’d opted for jeans and comfortable tennis shoes: not as warm as your sweats, but you didn’t want to look like a complete hobo for this event. Sheryl was out of town again, but had begged you for weeks to come to the meet up.

 

Poodle meet ups weren’t uncommon at this little park, but if you thought that simply walking Coco was an attention grabber, well. It really couldn’t compare to having about 6 show winning poodles, all in the height of their poodle glory, running around in a park like lunatics. For as gorgeous and exquisitely coifed as they were, they were still dogs. This park was a little different from your usual in that it had a designated off leash area. It wasn’t uncommon to run into several other dogs dashing about under the sunshine, but when the flock of poodles had descended, it seemed that the other dog owners were quick to abdicate the area. Not like there was any hostility involved – other park goers were apparently more than content to just watch the spectacle unfolding in front of them.

 

“Daddy, look! Look at those dogs! Are those poodles?!” You couldn’t help but to chuckle at how impressed the young voice sounded. “They're so pretty! Daddy, look! You’re not looking! Look!”

 

“Yeah, peanut? Oh, wow. Yeah, those are some fancy dogs. Like, really fancy dogs.” The voices were growing closer; you could hear the surprise and admiration in the man’s voice.

 

Your snorted laugh turned into an outright guffaw – and it was joined by a man’s easy laugh. 

 

Turning to the sound, you gave the couple a bright smile. The little girl was precious – dark hair and eyes, and her dad (their shared dark hair was a give away), uh, wow. You were not prepared. He had an easy smile and bright blue green eyes. His face was dusted over with fine stubble, but it wasn’t unattractive. The little girl, noticing that she’d caught your eye, gave you a shy smile and, tugging her dad’s hand, dragged the man over to your side. Her timing couldn’t have been better, as apparently Coco and Marie had called a temporary time out. Coco was padding to your side, panting heavily. Her top knot was looking a little worse for wear, but still had a bit of gravity defying poof to it.

 

“Hi sweetheart,” you cooed at Coco, and she gave you a mild tail wag, nuzzling under your hand for a pet.

 

The little girl’s eyes were big as saucers, filled with excitement.

 

“You have a princess dog!” she exclaimed, almost as if she didn’t believe it herself. She looked up at her dad, then at Coco, then to you.

 

Coco, quick to notice a new admirer, padded closer, tentatively sniffing at the little girl. The little girl squealed, turning her face back to her father.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” and you moved to grab Coco’s collar. “Is she scared of dogs?”

 

“Nope!” said the little girl. “Daddy, can I?” She turned a wheedling face up to him.

 

“Well, peanut, she’s not my dog. I mean, she is a she, right? With the pink collar and nails? Not like I’m trying to like, put gender roles on your dog, but I mean, she’s a she, right?”

 

You laughed. “You wouldn’t be the first to assume all poodles are girls. But yes, Coco is a she. And she just loves little girls that call her a princess dog, don’t you, Coco?” You loosened your grip on her collar, letting her go. Coco looked up at you gratefully, then padded over to the little girl. The little girl, clearly no stranger to dogs, held out her hand for Coco to sniff.

“Daddy says you have to let them sniff you before you can pet them,” she told you, very matter of factly. Coco, however, deciding that the little girl was clearly her kind of person, bypassed the hand sniffing and went right to licking. The little girl giggled, her other hand eagerly going for Coco’s top knot. Her eyes grew wider, and she looked back at her dad. “Daddy! She’s so soft! Like petting a cloud!” The little girl wrapped her arms around Coco’s chest for a bear hug, and Coco rested her head on the little girl’s shoulder.

 

“Awwwww!” You and her father both exclaimed, then laughed.

 

“For a giant fancy dog, she’s really sweet. I thought poodles were all like,” he curved his hand into a claw, and snarled. “Or like,” and he tilted his head up in the air, “Oh, no, my good man; I’m too good to sniff butts,” he added, adopting a pretentious accent.

 

You laughed. “Oh, no: don’t let the ridiculous hair cuts fool you. They’re still dogs, and it’s really important to take ‘em out like this to meet all kinds of people. Maybe even play….ball?”

 

Both Coco and the girl perked up. Fishing around in the pocket of your hoodie, you took out Coco’s bright red ball. Coco worked her way free from the girl’s arms, gently, and stood at attention. You kneeled down, and handed the ball to the girl. She took it from you as if you’d given her a priceless gem.

 

“Daddy, can I?”

 

He looked at you, and you reassured him with a nod.

 

“Well, of course, peanut! What do you say to the nice lady?”

 

“Oh, thank you!” And the little girl ran forward, grasping you in a huge hug. “I’m going to throw the ball really far, okay, Coco?”

 

Coco was already starting to do a sprightly dance, waiting for the throw. The little girl wound her arm back, and threw it with all of her might. Even you had to let out a low whistle as the ball arched far away from the three of you, with Coco springing after it.

 

“She’s got quite the arm,” you said, looking over at the man standing next to you. His eyes were faraway, focused on the little girl and Coco.

 

“Oh, ha, yeah, she kinda does. Doesn’t get it from me. I throw like a wet noodle. Wow, did you see that?! Holy cow!” Coco had jumped up and caught the ball midair, much to the little girl’s amusement. “Holy crap. Wonder dog. Running into burning buildings and saving kids that fell down a well. Total Avenger dog. I bet she'd be the Black Widow of Avenger dogs.”

 

You laughed outright. “I’ve never thought of her in Avenger terms, but I guess you’re right. Coco’s pretty capable. Though I think she’s more of an Iron Man with how smart she is.” Coco was trotting back over to the little girl, ball in mouth, tail high. Dropping it at the little girl’s feet, she waited patiently for the little girl to prepare the next windup, and was off like a shot as soon as the ball left her hand.

 

“I’m pretty sure Tony Stark would not at all be offended to be compared to such a fancy dog. Did I say she was fancy before? She is super fancy. Blowing my mind fancy. Like, is that even a real dog?”

 

You snorted. “Your little girl is precious, by the way,” you said, slipping your hands into your pockets.

 

“Cassie’s my everything,” he said, without missing a beat. “I think she’s gonna be begging me for a poodle for a year after this. You’ve ruined everything.”

 

“Hey, don’t blame me. I’m just dog sitting. (Y/N),” you said, slipping a hand out for him to shake.

 

“Oh, I’m an idiot. Scott Lang. I’m Scott Lang, not ‘An Idiot.’ What sort of parent would name their kid ‘An Idiot’?” He took his hand in yours, gave it a firm squeeze. He nodded appreciatively at your grip, and gave you a mockingly thoughtful look, nodding. “You have a total kung-fu grip. It’s awesome.”

 

“Well…” You let the word drag from you, “Either way, An Idiot, I'm not here to judge your parents…And thank you.”

 

Realizing that you were pulling his leg, he laughed. “So, (Y/N) of the fanciest of dogs, is this a regular thing or what?” He waved over at the other poodles. Coco’s ball was temporarily forgotten on the ground as Coco had her head against Cassie’s chest, enjoying the little girl’s pets. Marie, not one to be forgotten, head butted under Cassie’s free arm, resting her head against Coco as Cassie giggled, now using both hands to pet the dogs.

 

“Not as regular as any of us would like – it’s just a little meet up for poodle owners in the area. That white one that’s with Cassie is Coco’s older sister by a litter.”

 

“Huh?” He was half-way listening to you, his phone out, rapidly taking photos of Cassie with the dogs. All you could do was smile.

 

A few more rounds of ball, chase the pup (with Cassie leading the charge), and impromptu mud pie making (complete with you shrieking at Coco to stop digging), and it was time to go. Cassie’s boundless energy was starting to flag, and Coco was flopped down in the grass, her chest heaving, beside you.

 

“Well, this turned out to be a totally awesome day to come to the park, wasn’t it, peanut?” Scott grinned, looking down at Cassie. Cassie nodded, the alacrity of the gesture weighed down by her fatigue. She was sitting next to Coco, petting the dog’s side. Under her hand, Coco stretched out luxuriously, in a clear _please pet me more_.

 

“Ham,” you whispered down at the dog.

 

“Miss (Y/N), can we see you again? Coco is my most favorite dog ever and I’ve met a lot of dogs and she totally is the best!”

 

“Why, of course you can, dear heart!” It was hard not to give the girl a pet name; she was absolutely precious. She didn’t seem to mind at all, and hit you with a mega watt smile.

 

“Logistics.” Scott took out his phone, and was typing slowly, his tongue poking out of the side of his mouth. “(Y…..N…..) – what’s your number?”

 

“That’s a little bold, don’t you think?” While outwardly, you had a raised brow, inside, you were squealing a little. 

 

“Uh, what if there’s a poodle emergency? Like Cassie is going to die if she doesn’t get to pet a super fancy dog? Cassie, show miss (Y/N) what poodle withdrawal looks like.”

 

Cassie instantly grimaced, and clutched at her neck. “Oh no, I need a pooooodddllleeee,” she groaned out, crossing her eyes and coughing dramatically. Coco instantly sat up, and gave Cassie a lick on the cheek. Cassie grinned. “See, all better! Coco knows!”

 

“Can’t argue with a child,” Scott added, handing you his phone.

 

“Fair enough,” you said, swallowing your laughter. After entering in your number, you handed the phone back to Scott. “Now, I’ve got to warn the both of you – Coco’s not my dog. I dog sit her a lot, but she’s not mine. But if I have her and there’s a poodle emergency, we’ll meet here. Sound good?”

 

Cassie nodded rapidly.

 

“All righty, then, time to say bye-bye then, peanut.” Scott turned that grin on you, and you swallowed your own nervous giggle. The laugh lines around his eyes just made your knees a little wobbly.

 

“Bye, Miss (Y/N), and bye bye, Coco!” Cassie was kneeling on the ground again, wrapping her arms around Coco in a quick hug. Coco licked Cassie’s cheek, and nuzzled her before the little girl let go.

 

“Yeah, see ya, Coco-” Scott paused; looked at you. “Am I allowed to pet the fancy dog?”

 

“Get out of here with that. Of course you can. I think she’d be insulted if you didn’t.” Coco was looking up at him expectantly. Nervously, Scott held out his hand – only to have Coco instantly lick it. His face brightening, he gave her head a couple of pats. “Oh my God, you weren’t kidding! She is like petting a cloud.” Coco leaned into his touch before he stopped, and his smile was every bit as bright as his daughter’s.

 

“So, if I have poodle withdrawal too, as it’s a very contagious condition, I can give you a call?”

 

“That’s the deal,” you smiled, leaning over to click on Coco’s leash again.

 

“Well, just letting you know, we’re going to have a poodle emergency next Saturday. Say….10-ish? Do you do coffee and doughnuts, or do I need to get something extravagant, like croissants and wine and cheese?”

 

You laughed, leaning over to pet Coco. “Coffee and doughnuts sound like a fair price for averting poodle withdrawal.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poodle Withdrawal is a very real, very serious condition.


	3. I know a guy

_What a day,_ you mentally sighed, leaning back on the park bench. Taking a long swig of your chai latte, you looked up at the clouds lazily floating by, propelled on an unseen wind. It wasn’t the physical day, per say, that was bad. In a matter of fact, the day was absolutely glorious: perfect weather, immaculate blue sky, not too much sun and just enough of a breeze to caress the back of your neck.

 

No; what sucked about the day was your job (but it was always the job, lately). The money was the most you’d ever made professionally (and some small part of you felt at least that much was owed, with how hard you worked in the past and even now), but the stress was absolutely maddening. Stress that was compounded by shit management and shit supervisors and nearly shit everything else. If it wasn’t for your coworkers and a steady stream of warm drinks, you weren’t sure how you’d manage to get through it all.

 

Slipping off your shoes, you ran your stocking clad feet against the pavement. It might ruin this pair of hose, but who gave a damn? It felt good and was totally worth it. Before you could get too relaxed, though, your purse began to buzz beside you. With a sigh, you leaned over and fished out your cellphone. The annoyed expression instantly lightened into a smile.

 

_Poodle emergency, (Y/N)! Meet us at that park Saturday?_

 

Saturday - and today was Wednesday. A bit of a short notice, but nothing that felt _totally_ impossible. You were already working on a text to Sheryl. Less than 5 minutes later, you got a response, and your smile widened.

 

_Saturday at the park it is. Coco will be thrilled to see you guys!_

 

A delayed response, noted by gray dots, then:

 

_Coffee and doughnuts, right?_

 

You couldn’t help your laugh.

 

 _Right,_ you texted back. _But I’ll love you forever if you bring me a chai latte instead of coffee._

More dots - then his response:

 

_….They’ll know what that is at the coffee shop, right?_

 

_______

 

Saturday, and you’d chided yourself multiple times into saying that this was not a date. It really wasn’t. Cassie was a charming girl, and Coco could use the socialization with children. Not that Coco was _bad_ with children; just that she wasn’t around them very often.

 

Even then, you knew it was still a flimsy excuse but whatever. The rest of the week had still been shit (with an audit coming up, your shit manager had somehow gotten even more shitty), and you were in dire need of something fun. Besides, it wasn’t like your outfit screamed “I’m on a date.” Casual denim shorts, low-top converse in (your favorite color), and a form-fitting (and flattering) _The 36th Chamber of Shaolin_ shirt, you looked good and causal.

 

Coco, of course, was fancier than you. The pink bows, nails, and collar had been swapped out with holographic silver, turning to rainbows as the sunlight caught it. She went from looking like a fancy show dog to a high fashion dog - utterly ridiculous, but riveting. And, making things better, she had been thrilled to see you, jumping up and peppering your face with warm puppy kisses before she settled down enough for you to walk her out of Sheryl’s opulent house.

 

You’d wondered why Scott had requested to meet at such an early time. 8 AM - there was hardly anyone at the park, save for a jogger. And “A” was appropriate; you’d seen the chick run round where you were siting at least twice, and hadn’t spotted anyone else. Stifling a yawn behind your hand, you flopped down on the bench. Coco, attentive as always, looked back to you as she sat down. You leaned back, then forward - and wished that you’d brought a book with you. You were trying to do better about the whole being “Tethered to my phone” thing, and for the most part, you’d done quite well with it. But as you continued to wait, you itched to start scrolling mindlessly through news articles (guess what: everything in the world was burning down!) or look longingly at all the things you wanted to buy online but couldn’t because you were a responsible adult, and you really didn’t _need_ that Death Star waffle maker.

 

Before the quiet got a little too depressing, Coco’s ears perked up, and her focus jerked from you to straight ahead of you. Approaching were three men - a black man, a brunette, and a very familiar blonde. You squinted, not wanting to believe your eyes. Coco had much more trust in her senses, and stamped her paws impatiently. She then looked up to you, with a bark-snort and a head toss.

 

“Oh, go on,” you said, waving your hand forward as you unhooked her leash. Coco bounded forward, barking eagerly, her poofed tail wagging a mile a minute. Standing slowly, you smiled, watching the scene before you unfold. The blonde had taken a few steps forward to greet Coco. Jumping up, she lathered kisses on his face, his arms, before excitedly turning her attention to the rest of the men. The black man ruffled her top knot affectionately, while the brunette seemed to be hanging back. Noticing his apprehension, Coco settled all four paws on the ground, before moving forward to head butt the brunette’s knees, her tail wagging slowly. Looking to the blonde for reassurance, the brunette slowly reached for Coco’s head. In the early morning light, you thought you were seeing things - one of his hands seemed to be… _shining_? Coco paid it no mind, pressing closer under the brunette’s careful pets. Even from this distance, you could see the brunette’s face absolutely _light_ up with a smile that turned your knees to jelly and shook your heart. The brunette was kneeling now, slowly. Coco moved back, watching him with keen eyes. As he settled himself on the ground, he held his hands out to Coco - who instantly moved forward, eager for more pets.

 

The scene was broken by Scott running up, a bag in one hand, two cups clutched haphazardly in the other. “Hey guys! Hey, (YN)!” he was panting now, slowing down as he approached. Coco gave him a bark in greeting, but quickly turned her attention back to the brunette lavishing her with pets and baby talk.

 

“Scott!” You moved forward, holding out your hands. “Lemme take some of that!”

 

“Nuh-uh,” he (impressively) juggled the cups and bags in his hand and under his arm. “Chai…latte,” he held out a cup to you, grasping the bag between his teeth. Reaching forward, you plucked the bag from between his teeth. He looked surprised, then grateful, as he got a better handle of the cup still in his hand. “Thanks,” he panted out.

 

“So,” you took a small sip from your cup. “Wow,” you breathed. “This is perfect, by the way,” and you licked your lower lip.

 

His harried face brightened. “Awesome; I mean, I didn’t think that there was a lot they could mess up in a chai latte, but apparently they can, so I did some googling and found this place which said that they had the best ones. They’re totally getting a rave Yelp review from me.”

 

“As well they should,” taking another sip, you nodded shyly at the other man. “So, uh…”

 

“Sam Wilson,” said the other man, stepping forward, and offering you his hand. You shook it, giving him a warm smile. “Steve Rogers is the blonde-”

 

“Oh, I know,” your smile grew sly, “We’ve already met.”

 

Sam looked utterly surprised. “Are you some sort of secret super hero?” He crossed his arms, amusement on his face now.

 

“Only the dog,” and you nodded towards Coco, Steve, and the brunette.

 

“Tic-tac, you have to tell me how you meet these people,” Sam said, with a sigh that sounded long-suffering.

 

Steve and the brunette were walking up now, the brunette keeping a hand on Coco, who merrily trotted beside him. As they grew closer, Steve’s eyes widened in recognition.

 

“I thought the dog was familiar! (Y/N)!” he moved forward, and, much to your surprise, grabbed you in a brief, warm hug. “Thank you for coming out; I really appreciate it. This is my friend, James Barnes.”

 

The brunette looked at you, and nodded. “She…your dog?” His voice was not unpleasant, but he seemed unused to using it. As if he had to think hard to translate what was on his mind into precise words.

 

“Technically, no,” you started, taking another sip of your chai latte. Being surrounded by this many handsome men this early in the morning was shorting out the wires in your brain. “She’s my friend’s. But I dog-sit - and I got a very urgent text about a poodle emergency earlier this week, soooo…” You trailed off, giving Scott a meaningful glance.

 

Turns out it wasn’t necessary, for as soon as you were finished speaking, he was rushing to fill the gap. “A few weeks ago, when I had Cassie last, remember I said I met a girl at the park with the fanciest dog ever? Told you I wasn’t lying. She’s totally fancier than I remember her, (Y/N),” he added, sneaking a look at Coco.

 

“Oh, we’re very real - but I’m totally having a hard time with what’s happening right now, because oh my God. Did Captain America himself have a poodle emergency?” Looking at him coyly over your cup, you took another sip.

 

“About that - Sam said that some veterans have an easier time dealing with post traumatic stress with dogs. Bucky,” and he colored, “I mean, James, really liked dogs a long time ago. I’d mentioned it, and Scott said that ‘he knew a guy’ that had a good dog. I never would have guessed it’d be you,” his smile was warm, truly content. Surrounded by this much honest to God joy from these men, you wanted to float away in the breeze. It made everything else seem so small. So stupid.

 

“Well, for the record, this totally counts a poodle emergency, so I’m totally not even mad,” you grinned. “You guys must all be poodle people, I swear.”

 

“Dude, Coco is like, the nicest poodle ever. Look at that face!” Scott turned to look back at James and Coco. James had settled himself on the ground, and had his forehead to Coco’s. Both of their eyes were closed, and he was murmuring to her softly. This close, Coco seemed to be listening intently, the two of them sharing secrets without words.

 

You, Scott, Steve, and Sam all stood back, watching.

 

“…This was a really good idea, Scott,” said Sam, softly.

 

“Told you. She’s totally awesome,” Scott replied, taking a loud slurp of his coffee. “Coco’s not so bad, either.”

 

Your cheeks warmed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going with the idea that the reader doesn't know the Avengers identities outside of Steve Rogers (since there was a whole museum exhibit on him!) - and that Steve probably wouldn't readily tell people that James's nickname is Bucky.


	4. Not Quite a Therapy Dog - But She'll Do

Sheryl was the best girlfriend _ever_.

To be perfectly fair, though, she was even before the whole “I’ll totally loan you my most awesome, prized poodle for makeshift therapy sessions for Steve Fucking Rogers – oh my fucking God, how does this even happen to you and not me? _I’m_ Coco’s owner!” thing, but now, any time that you remotely hinted about wanting to puppy-sit Coco, she was all about it. Which worked out for the best, really.

After the initial “getting to know you” session, you’d traded numbers with Steve and Sam. Sam, being the organized wonder that he was, was quick to suggest a rolling schedule for James to spend time with Coco and just be.

“I figure that it should be pretty informal,” he’d said, watching as James walked the perimeter of the park, Coco glued to his side. “James hasn’t had anything formal in..” he stopped, checked what he was going to say, then started over again “in a while, let’s say. And Coco’s not a registered therapy dog – or is she?”

You shook your head, keeping your eyes on James and Coco. “Not that I’m aware of. She’s a show dog a few months out of the year, though.”

“Totally. Fancy,” Scott had added.

Sam chuckled, and continued. “Well, that’s fine. Like I said; keep it causal.”

And that was that. For the next three months, you guys met at the park every other Saturday. Sometimes it was Sam, Steve, and James, sometimes just Steve and James. Over time, James’s face looked a little less haunted. From petting and walking Coco, he’d graduated, slowly, into playing with her. First, it was a careless little tussle, then cautious rough housing (which Coco had taken to like a duck to water), then it was keep away.

One Saturday, after watching them play, Coco doing her best to goad James into chasing her, you stepped up to the brunette.

His focus instantly snapped to you, a cold, sharp look before it instantly softened into relief. Quietly, you held out a red ball to him.

“She’s pretty killer at fetch,” you said, softly, not wanting to spook the man. “Wanna give it a shot?”

He looked at the ball, shining red in your hand, then looked at you. His eyes searched your face, picked it apart, and carefully put it back together. You’d never felt so stripped from just a look. Then…a sliver of sunlight through the cloudy expression on his face.

He smiled.

“…Thank you.” He took the ball from you, using his flesh and bone hand. You’d noticed the metal arm, elegantly black and gold, the first day, but had chosen not to say anything. There was no need for it. His fingers were warm against the palm of your hand as he took the ball – then turned back to Coco. She excitedly waited, riveted on the ball. He threw it in an easy parabola, and Coco was off, her plumed tail wagging. They’d played fetch for a good 30 minutes, Coco’s energy boundless until it wasn’t. When she’d gone for her last catch, she brought the ball back to James, dropped it at his feet, and then, like the drama queen she was, flopped down across his feet. James looked down at her, and laughed. It was a quick, sudden sound – startled out of him.

Steve, who had tagged along, looked at his friend, the warmth in his eyes indescribable.

“…That’s the first time I’ve heard him laugh,” he whispered, then turned to you. “Thank you, (Y/N).” His voice was thick as he fought through emotion. “Please tell Coco’s owner I said that, too. This has been…” He trailed off, watching James gingerly sit down, not wanting to move Coco. As he lightly jostled her, she lazily sat up, moving enough to be off of his feet. Once he was back on the ground, she stretched out across him like she was 7 pounds instead of 70. James’s smile hadn’t faded one bit as he rubbed her sides.

Steve quickly wiped his eyes. “This has been great,” he finally said.


	5. A Most Brave and Loyal Companion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There's some violence and mild animal abuse in this chapter.

This Saturday, you’d left way earlier than you needed to. You’d stopped along the way to grab breakfast from a little corner bakery that was near where you lived, and had some of the best almond croissants you’d ever had. You'd grabbed enough for an army (let alone a mere trio, or quartet), and headed on your way. 

When you got to the park, it was still quite early. Dawn was filtering through the tree line, rosy and gold. The park was quiet, partially shrouded in mist, and you took in a deep breath. Something about this place was magical - even though the city was only a few hundred yards away, it felt like you were in the middle of your own thicket, deep in the woods. Setting your things down on your usual bench, you unclicked Coco from her leash.

“Go explore!” you waved your hands at her. She seemed….more cautious than usual. Rather than bolting as soon as the leash was off, she looked back at you, inquisitive.

“Really?” You mockingly put your hands on your hips. “You don’t wanna go on an adventure?”

At the “A-word,” her ears perked, and she dashed about in a tight circle in front of you, before stopping again at your feet. That was weird. Usually she took off running when she heard “adventure,” ready for anything. But here she remained, her soot-black nose twitching as she scented the air, looking fixatedly at a spot behind you. Leary, you turned to face where she was looking.

Nothing.

“What’s got you spooked?” You murmured, leaning down to brush your hand against her top knot soothingly. She leaned into your touch, but still stared behind you. Her body was tense, and she lurched forward out of your grasp, a low growl rumbling from her.

Okay, that was _very_  weird.

Nervously, you searched the trees for where she was staring. You couldn’t see anything, no matter how hard you looked. Coco’s growl grew deeper as she stepped forward, her muzzle wrinkling. She barked – once, twice. It wasn’t her typical, “come play with me!” bark, or “give me that!” bark. It was a “back off” bark – deep and menacing, all the more startling since it was coming from a prissy poodle (her nail, ribbon, and collar color for this Saturday was, in a flash of insight from Sheryl, red, white, and blue). 

“Coco, come on,” and you grabbed her collar, gently pulling her back. “There’s nothing there. Come on, now.” She was still growling as you pulled her back to the bench. Once she saw you sitting down, she stopped growling, but still sat alert at your feet, not moving. You searched the tree line again – nothing. And it was getting lighter out, anyway. Maybe she was just spooked by it being still semi-dark. She was always extra cautious at night, barking at every suspicious leaf and plastic bag that blew by.

“Come on, then – let’s go for a little walk,” you clicked your tongue at her. You stood up and stretched. Coco looked at you with a huffing growl. She didn’t approve.

“Oh, come on, then,” you smiled down at her, “It was nothing. We’ll go see. Come on.” You picked up her leash, content to leave her off of it for the time being. If it was someone, you could quickly leash her again. No big deal. Walking towards the trees, Coco cautiously trailed in front of you, her nose to the ground, stopping to look up at the slightest sound: birds fluttering in the trees, a stray car horn.

You should have trusted your senses. You were grabbed from behind, an arm tight around your throat.

“Scream and I’ll kill you,” a voice growled, a knife held at your throat.

And before you could even react, Coco was on him, a silent blur of black. She hadn’t so much as growled this time – just attacked. She went straight for his exposed leg, sinking her teeth deep into his calf. Howling in pain, his grip on you instantly loosened, and you slipped free.

“Goddamn dog!” he snarled, pulling back his left leg to kick her. To your horror, his foot landed against her ribs, and she let out a pained yelp. But she didn’t let go. Her muzzle and teeth were stained red, blood freely welling from her grasp. In a blind panic, you grabbed for your phone, still half-way tucked into your back pocket. With shaking fingers, you attempted to dial 9-1-1. The thug moved to kick Coco again, and she let go, dodging this kick, only to jump directly at the man's chest, snarling. Caught off balance, the man fell backwards, and she was on him again, going straight for his throat. He'd thrown his arm up at the last moment, only to have her teeth close on it. He screamed again, trying to wrench his arm from Coco's jaws. She held firm, shaking his arm as if it were one of her rag toys. 

In horror, you realized that she could very well _kill_ this man. Your Coco, the same dog you’d babied and kissed and snuggled with when she was a puppy, who cuddled with you at night on the bed, had turned into a creature of unmitigated ferocity.

“Coco, NO,” you cried, dashing forward, trying to figure out where to break it up. The man was flailing now, his knife knocked out of his hand when Coco jumped at him. She couldn’t see it – but you could. He was reaching for it now. Grasping its handle, he raised his arm to strike –

And instantly dropped his knife as lighting crackled around you, striking the ground mere inches from where you stood. Coco was unfazed, and kept attacking, releasing his arm once she thought she had a clear shot at his throat. Her pointed muzzle dove in again and again, seeking it. Fabric tore and blood spattered the ground under her relentless anger.

“(Y/N)!” yelled a familiar voice, a thousand miles away. You paid it no mind, running to grasp Coco’s collar. With a mighty jerk backwards, you pulled her off the man. She was torn free with a mighty rip of fabric and another pained cry from the man. Her muzzle was still wrinkled in rage, bloodied, her red-flecked teeth bared. She lunged forward, snapping, fighting against your grasp - and then she was free, charging towards the downed man again.

"Coco!" It wasn't your voice that called her - but a familiar one. Coco stopped dead in her tracks, as if issued a command. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a familiar black and gold metal arm. 

"Coco, go to (Y/N)," came the voice again. It took you far too long to realize it was James calling her. 

“Coco, god,” your voice was shaking, as you tumbled backwards onto the ground. Coco, her prey forgotten, dashed to your side, and was licking your cheek. In front of you, the bloodied man was being hauled to his feet by a giant of a man, clad in gray and red, his eyes alight with an inner electricity. His voice was a dull roar in your ears as you pressed your face into the comforting fur of Coco’s coat, sobbing openly into her warm body.

____

“I’m sorry, (Y/N),” said Steve, rubbing your back and shoulders. “We should have been here sooner. I thought the park was safe…”

Your tears had eased into occasional hiccups now. After the police had been called, the situation explained, and Coco given a clean bill of health (and being praised by everyone for her bravery), Steve had taken you to the Tower. Thor had been the giant man you’d seen – and he was with you now as well. You were settled in the large living room of the tower, a blanket securely around your shoulders, and Coco, ever vigilant, at your feet. The kick had looked worse than it actually was – apparently having a 70 pound dog mauling the hell out of his right leg severely hampered the mugger from kicking her as hard as he could have.

“He’s actually lucky,” said one of the paramedics at the scene, “If she’d gotten to his throat, she'd have killed him.”

Yeah, _lucky_.

“…I should have paid attention to her,” you said, shakily. “She was growling and barking at the trees. She wasn’t at ease at all…” Your hands had stopped shaking, but it was still difficult to process how close you’d come to being seriously hurt. Coco, from her position at her feet, looked up at you, then let her head rest back on your paws.

“She is a keen, fine animal,” rumbled Thor as he approached. Coco lifted her head again, and looked at Thor with a cautious tail wag. She was acknowledging him, but it was clear that she didn’t want _anyone_ too close to you right now. “It does my heart glad to see that this breed of creature still exists on Midgard with their heritage intact.”

Curiosity won out over your fear. “Heritage…?”

“Yes,” and Thor sat down in a chair opposite you. “Did you not know about the history of these poodles?” Well, that was something you’d never expected to hear coming out of Thor’s mouth. But then again, you never expected to meet an Avenger, be in this Tower, or get attacked, either.

“No…” you trailed off, looking down at Coco. She looked back up at you, before resting her head comfortingly on your foot, letting out a soft sigh. “I mean,” you continued, “I know they’re hunting dogs – water dogs. Smart and easy to train, but that’s about it…”

It seemed such a frivolous conversation to be having, after what had happened, but your brain welcomed it. James, who had arrived at the scene moments after Steve, was quietly sitting in the living room now, on the other couch facing the one that you were sitting on. You’d been so caught up in the spectacle of lightning and panic that you hadn’t truly seen him. But you had felt him – James was the first to your side, checking to see if you were okay. And James was the first person that Coco allowed to approach you, giving him a lick to his hand as he helped you to your feet.

“Aye, they are water dogs, yes, but these are dogs of war.” Thor had gotten up, and was kneeling, slowly, in front of Coco. Coco lifted her head, her body tensing.

“Calm, my warrior dog,” Thor said, soothingly, holding his hands out to her. She leaned forward, sniffing them. “I would honor thee,” he said, “for your ferocity and bravery in protecting your family.” Coco, feeling the gravity of his words, softly licked Thor’s hands, and lowered her head. Thor’s smile could have illuminated the room as he reached forward and stroked the top of her head, his fingers trailing through the silken fur of her ears.

“Yes – mighty, fierce, and loyal, are these poodles.” There was no mockery in his voice. “When I heard that friend Steven had enlisted the help of such a dog for James, I expressed my desire to meet her. It is a goodly thing that I was there,” and his expression darkened.

“…Yes,” you trailed off, then gasped. “I don’t think I thanked any of you for helping! Fuck, I’m so sorry,” you stammered, fighting the fresh sting of hot tears. “I…God, thank you. Thank you all so much.” You stood up, the blanket falling from your shoulders. Coco, finally at ease, didn’t move from her position on the floor in front of you. Stumbling over the tangle of blanket now at your feet, you fell into Thor first, hugging him fiercely. He started, before his massive arms wrapped around you, a hand soothingly stroking your hair back.

“You are quite welcome, though we all should be thanking this Coco,” he said, letting you go.

“I agree,” said Steve, holding his arms open to you as you nearly tripped to get to him. His hug was soft, briefer than Thor’s, but no less reassuring. James, who had been sitting next to Steve, looked at you. For long moments, the two of you regarded each other, not sure what to do next. Slowly, carefully, James opened his arms. You couldn’t stop the tears now as you let yourself move forward, hugging the quiet man with a strength you didn’t know you had.

Neither did he, as he playfully coughed, and gasped, “(Y/N), I can’t breathe…”

Gasping, you let go, putting distance between the two of you. He was mock-coughing now, a hand to his chest. “You’re stronger than you look,” and the smile that you caught between the strands of his dark hair was such a smile that you knew it’d stick with you forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About poodles being dogs of war: Absolutely true! They were used as war dogs from medieval times all the way up through World War II. Can you just imagine Steve running into battle, leading a fleet of standard poodles? YES.
> 
> One of my favorite poodle lore stories is about Boy, a white poodle that supposedly had demonic powers: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Boy_(dog)
> 
> If you're interested about the badass history of poodles of war, here's a good place to start: http://www.poodlehistory.org/PARMY.HTM
> 
> And yes: one of the major reasons why I'm writing this is because I love the breed so, so much. They are such wonderful, amazing pets and companions. POODLES FOREVER.


End file.
